Star Wars 1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_Kashyyyk._

Bastila threaded carefully over layers of leaves, roots and mold. Their presences had stirred up the creatures of the forest. Tachs squeaked and ran off in different directions, but the shy creatures were careful not to stray too far into the darkness, where the predators waited for anyone foolhardy enough to challenge their presence.

The air was damp, almost stale. There was no wind, no sunlight, just dense darkness and a constant feeling of being observed by hungry fangs and sharp claws.

Revan, who was leading the way, stopped and turned towards his two companions. Canderous smelled in the air, his lip curling.

"I sense them too," Revan murmured and ignited his lightsaber.

The battle was intense, but swift. Canderous heavy blaster, drumming in the background as Bastila and Revan, side by side slashed their lightsabers against the oncoming predators.

"Another enemy dead…" the Mandalorian murmured, supporting his enormous gun on his shoulder. "We better move on, chief."

The scarred warrior was talking to Revan, of course. Though Bastila was in charge of their mission, she knew no one among the Ebon Hawk's crew considered her to be their leader. She wiped perspiration from her forehead. The humidity stuck on everything down here.

"Come on, Bast," Revan called. He and Canderous had already started walking. "Don't fall behind."

Bastila took a deep breath and slowly began following them. She wondered if Revan even had the faintest idea of where his leadership talents sprung from. However much Bastila wanted – needed – to think of him as Arden Kane, former soldier in the Republic army, she couldn't. They had been traveling together for only month, still Arden's powers had grown immensely. She was surprised by how very little suspicion he had shown – unlike their reputable pilot.

"Bastila!" Revan called again, impatiently. "We have to move."

She ran a few meters and fell in behind Revan and Canderous. As they walked, the Mandalorian slowed his step for a moment so that he walked side by side with her. She instantly knew what was coming, judging from the unmistakable, sardonically amused expression on the warrior's face.

"So, Bastila, humor me…" he began lowly. "I heard a rumor that the Vulkars captured you without much of a struggle. It must be embarrassing to be bested by a handful of street thugs."

She replied a little too hastily for her words to carry weight, "There were extenuating circumstances. And I can assure you it took far more than a handful of Vulkars to subdue me." Bastila quickened her step to keep up with Revan, hoping that the Mandalorian had had his fun with her and would leave it at that.

Revan swiveled around, looking at Canderous. "Okay, let's not get into this," he said in a failing attempt to steer away any confrontation between the two.

Canderous shrugged, adjusting his blaster to a more comfortable position. "Whatever you say. All I know is that if we had more Jedi like Bastila fighting against us in the Mandalorian Wars, my side might not have lost."

Bastila quickly bit off, "Bold talk from a broken-down mercenary who was serving at Davik's heel. I'd call you his pet kath hound, but they have enough loyalty not to turn on their masters." She cocked her head and took half a step in Revan's direction, urging

them to move on.

Behind her, Canderous chuckled. "Insults?" He lowered his voice. "Maybe if your Master had trained your lightsaber to be as quick as your tongue you could have escaped those Vulkars, _you spoiled little Jedi princess!_"

The words echoed in her mind. Bastila exhaled slowly, forcing away the angered comments that surfaced in her mind. She turned slowly and met Canderous icy gaze. He had no manner of respect to offer her. This… brute respected nothing but brainless brutality, something she would never willingly submit to. She flared, "I was not spoiled! I was given the same training as everyone else in the Order! You are nothing but a..." she silently berated herself. "No. I must not do this. _There is no emotion; there is peace_."

Canderous snorted, "That's the problem with you Jedi. Always chanting about peace and control, never up for a good fight." Canderous watched her expectantly, smiling superciliously. "Well, except for Revan, I guess," he amended

_Fun's over, _she thought to herself. "Enough, Mandalorian. I won't rise to your bait any more. The game is over. Let us continue on with what we were doing." Bastila realized that the civility she had put in her voice was turned to ridicule by her previous outburst, but cared not. She had more important things to worry about.

But as the expedition continued, she found herself thinking more and more on Canderous' words. However superficial and dumb his comments were, something about what he said had stuck itself in her mind. And just like an itching insect's bite one can't resist scratching, Bastila kept thinking.

_Spoiled little Jedi princess. _Perhaps Canderous was right. But had she really been spoiled? Definitely not. Favored? Maybe. Either way, passed events had always placed her in the center of attention.


	2. Final Tests

**Final tests**

3962 BBY

No more than five months after the departure of Revan and Malak from Coruscant, word of their accomplishments spread throughout the Republic. But while Revan and Malak were celebrated as heroes, the Jedi Order as a whole was not looked upon as such. Still, the Jedi Council refused to partake in the war.

In the middle of this political conflict, Bastila and Master Vrook Lamar arrived at Coruscant. At the age of 16, Bastila was more than ready to perform her final tests, and it had been decided that this would be done under the supervision of the Jedi High Council.

While Bastila meditated, Vrook went to visit a mutual friend of theirs who had recently returned to Coruscant after a long absence.

* * *

Vrook knocked politely on the wooden door, although it was open.

"Welcome Master Vrook. Come in," the woman greeted him. Her voice was melodic, and seemed to belong to a far younger person than the forty-year-old Jedi Master sitting in the middle of the circular room.

"Master Tra," Vrook replied curtly. "I was told of your return."

His former padawan gave him a warm smile which enhanced her pleasant facial features. Sebastin Tra's features belied her age as well as her voice; she kept her years well. Thin wrinkles had begun to form around her eyes, though, Vrook noticed. She was of medium height, slender and gracious, with deep brown skin and dark, braided hair, held back from her face by a black leather band. Sebastin wore exclusively white robes. She always had.

Vrook gathered his robes to sit down in front of her, but Sebastin rose in an instant and took his hands in hers. "Always formal, Master Vrook," she smiled again.

Before he could avoid her, she embraced him. He hesitated for a moment. It was not common for Jedi of their rank to show affection in this way, but then again, Sebastin was not a common Jedi.

"I have missed you, Vrook," she said quietly.

Sebastin had always been strongly attached to people around her. She had a curious way of making you sway under her sympathetic influence. Vrook felt it now, as he always had. After a few moments, he released himself from her arms.

"Are you going to tell me where you have been all these years?" he inquired. He realized his tone might have been overly stern, because Sebastin winced, startled.

"No," she answered coolly.

Vrook nodded in concession. He was not surprised at Sebastin's reaction. "I spoke with Lonna. She said you had made up your mind on this particular point, but I wanted to ask, at least." He had already given up; his former student was resolute beyond reason at times, and this seemed to be such a moment.

Still, the years of training they had spent together allowed Vrook to sense her insecurity – and her guilt. She turned away her gaze from him. "The Council has accepted my apologies," she explained defensively.

"But I wonder if your apprentice will," Vrook added with the smallest hint of sarcasm, and immediately regretted his utterance.

Sebastin frowned for a moment as a dark veil of pain covered her eyes. She fought to regain her bearings, but her voice was still slightly unsteady when she spoke, "How is, um…" She cleared her throat. "How is Bastila coming around? I heard she was not chosen by someone after... after I left."

"She was not," Vrook said evenly. "I and the Dantooine Council have been teaching her, together, until this day."

Sebastin nodded slowly while considering the information. "I have also heard she shows great promise." She paused, watching him warily. "I do not regret leaving. But I should have returned earlier."

"Time heals many wounds, my friend," he said soothingly. Sebastin remained silent, waiting for him to continue. "The Council wishes that you resume your role as Bastila's mentor. Normally, the Council would not permit you to take on a padawan just yet, after what you did, but circumstances have changed." He paused and added gravely, "You must not speak to Bastila of this until she is ready."

Sebastin nodded.

Vrook sensed that he had come to a crossroad. He knew Sebastin's strength of character and prayed that she would allow this trait to be passed on to her future padawan. Mentally crossing his fingers, he continued, "Bastila is showing great command of the Force. But other than this, she has an interesting ability to influence others during meditation."

"Indeed?" Sebastin lifted an eyebrow, suddenly very alert. "Are you saying young think she has a gift for…?"

"_Battle meditation_." Vrook sounded a lot more concerned than pleased that one of his students showed signs of such a unique talent. "And she shows more than a little promise. We believe it would be best if she was put under your tutelage."

Sebastin nodded thoughtfully. "What concerns you so much about girl?" She tilted her head a little. "I trust it has to do with more than her gift?"

"It has, actually, a lot to do with her being so strong in the Force." Vrook crossed his arms and began to pace as he talked. "She is… difficult, sometimes. Rash and impulsive, I'd rather say." Vrook sighed and stopped his sauntering, facing away from the other. "Many Masters, myself included, tend to see what we want to see in our students, rather than the truth."

"And you want me to teach her because I could save her from that truth? Because I refused to train Revan?" she asked.

Vrook turned to face her. "You are the only Jedi Master who sent him away, yes. Whatever your reasons…"

Sebastin rolled her eyes and snorted, "I don't like him. He is proud and arrogant."

Vrook couldn't agree more, but Revan's manners were not the subject of their discussion; Bastila was. Again, he wondered whether this was the right thing to do. After all these years, even when Sebastin had gained the rank of Master, could not Vrook think of her as anything but a student – his padawan. But there was no Master he would rather entrust Bastila to.

Vrook placed his hand on Sebastin's shoulder and for the first time he chose to look upon her as the Jedi Master she was – and not as his former student. "Bastila needs you, more than she knows. You chose her for a reason."

"I am not sure I am worthy, Vrook."

"Then you agree to this task?" he asked. It was a question; not a request.

Sebastin straightened and a new kind of strength appeared in her eyes, shining with hope. "I do, Master Vrook. I will teach her, but only if that is what she wishes."

* * *

Bastila sat on a bench in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. She kept her eyes closed, allowing the sound of running water to sooth her on-edge nerves. Tomorrow she would perform her final tests to become a padawan. She had been waiting for ages it seemed, to finally get a chance to prove her worth. But now, when the time had come, she suddenly felt uncertain.

The sound of loud voiced disturbed her contemplation. Bastila opened her eyes for a moment. A nearby group of apprentices were speaking – gossiping – a little louder than what was considered appropriate in this place. One of the boys pointed indiscreetly at Bastila and said something she could not hear. Two girls sitting beside him giggled.

Bastila pretended she hadn't noticed them. _Ignorant prats_, she thought irritably. _None of which will ever achieve a fragment of the power I will wield one day._ Though she had said nothing out loud, Bastila clasped a hand over her mouth, silently admonishing herself.

She lowered her gaze guiltily. Things had been different here on Coruscant ever since the war started. There was an apprehensive tension in the air which seemed to affect everyone – Jedi or not. Bastila had attempted to recreate the reigning calm always present in the Enclave on Dantooine, but failed constantly.

Suddenly the apprentices became very quiet. Bastila looked up. At the end of the pillar row she spotted Master Kavar talking to a young Kiffar dressed in padawan robes. She rose and walked over to the Weapon Master.

Waiting politely for Kavar to finish his conversation, she took a better look at the padawan to whom Kavar was talking. He was about her age – perhaps a bit older, brawny-looking and broad shouldered, with the stance of a warrior. He had a long, thick mane of almost black hair, and black facial markings on both sides of his face. She could not remember seeing him before.

The Kiffar seemed to recognize her, though. A pair of auburn, intense eyes suddenly looked straight at her. "Master, is that not Bastila Shan?"

Kavar, who had been facing away from Bastila, turned around. "Miss Shan? Welcome back to Coruscant."

"Thank you, Master Kavar." She bowed to the Jedi Master.

Kavar gestured towards the Kiffar. "This is my Padawan, Kelan Xunn."

"Nice to finally meet you, Miss Shan," the padawan greeted. "I've heard so much about you."

"Um… you have?" she asked hesitantly, and unconsciously threw a glance at the group of apprentices.

Kelan followed her gaze and smiled. "I've heard good things about you."

"I hear you are performing your final tests tomorrow, Bastila," Kavar prompted.

She replied with a curt nod. "That is correct, Master. I came here to try and… center myself."

The Weapon Master looked about the room. "I understand. If you wish to be alone, you could use the Council's meditation chamber this evening." With a swift smile, Kavar added, more discreetly, "We are all far too busy these days arguing with senators and squabbling politicians to have use for it anyway."

Bastila suppressed a chuckle at the remark. "Thank you Master, but I don't want to be trouble…"

"It is no trouble at all. If anyone asks, tell them I gave you permission."

She stayed in the meditation chamber until late that night, and the following day she performed the first two steps of her final trials without complications. That gave her some more confidence for the last test, though it was going to be the most difficult.

_Many hours later…_

Bastila was wandering the lower streets of Coruscant, far below the glittering skyscrapers where the wealthier citizens lived. Down here it was dark, smoky and crowded. She pulled the coat tighter around herself, and felt the reassuring weight of her newly constructed lightsaber clipped on to her belt. Even though the lower levels of Coruscant were not at all as dangerous as many other cities within the Core Worlds, it was still wise to stay on one's guard.

Bastila finally reached her destination. The Rykk'neu Tar, owned and run by a Twi'lek named Duen Gerda – the very person she needed to speak to.

Two Nikto bouncers blocked the entrance. "Stop right there, human. What is your business at Rykk'neu's? Humans don't come here often."

She answered calmly. "I come on the behalf of the Jedi Council. I wish to speak with Mr. Gerda. I need to ask him some questions."

One of the bouncers whispered a few sentences in Huttese to the other one, but Bastila overheard a few words, among these 'another Jedi'.

The Nikto turned to her again. "You can go inside, Jedi."

The Rykk'neu Tar was dark and smoky. The air reeked from various beverages served to the alien patrons. Bastila walked down a short staircase and looked around. At this time of the day there were few visitors. The bouncers had been truthful; there wasn't a single human in here.

The bartender, a Besalisk, stood behind the counter, facing an impressive collection of liquors and spirits stacked along the wall. Bastila took a seat. The bartender turned around, two of his four arms currently busy polishing a particularly fine bottle of Somnaskol Red, while the other two rested on the counter. His clothes were shabby, but the gold necklace he carried witnessed of a higher income than that of any common bartender.

"Duen told me the Council would send someone," he said in Huttese, and then looked admiringly at the bottle in his hands for a few moments, before continuing: "He'll be out in a minute to see you. Would you like a drink?"

"I'll pass, thank you," Bastila replied politely.

The bartender nodded, and turned around to face the wall again. Just a few moments later a male green Twi'lek appeared from behind a drapery beside the bar. He wore a nice suit and loads of jewelry.

She waited until he had reached her before she spoke. "You must be Mr. Gerda. I am Bastila Shan. I come on the behalf of the Jedi Council."

After short handshake, Duen sat down beside her. "Well, then. How can I assist you?"

"The Jedi Council sent me here to investigate the circumstances surrounding Senator Pol Adma's death. I am told you have had much contact with the senator's secretary; Aëlin Laesta."

The Twi'lek nodded. "I trust the door guards didn't trouble you?" Bastila shook her head. "Good. I told them to let you in, but I don't trust those Nikto."

Bastila took her chance, putting on her most credulous face. "I heard those guards you mentioned talk about another Jedi, who had been visiting the Rykk'neu's. I was not aware the Council had already sent someone."

Duen looked very confused. He thought for a moment before speaking. "I don't know of any Jedi coming here before you." Bastila made an attempt on reading his feelings, but could not sense any sign of deception. "But then again," he continued with a lopsided grin, "I said I don't trust Nikto? They get these ideas about people, you know. I suppose I can understand them; there are many strange people visiting these parts of the city."

"Strange people?" She lifted an eyebrow.

"I don't know if you were staring at the ground all your way here, but even if you did, you must have seen that this part of paradise - " he made a gesture indicating the surroundings, "- is a bit of a miniature Nar Shaddaa. I wouldn't be surprised if the Queen of the Krath jumped out of nowhere, much less a strange person who could be mistaken for a Jedi."

Bastila was confused by this Twi'lek. He showed no trace of untruthfulness, but still, she got a sense that he knew more than he was telling her. "Then I need you to tell me what happened three days ago, when you were at the Upper Promenade. Many witnesses claim to have seen you – same day the senator died - with Aëlin Laesta at the Upper Promenade. May I ask how you two know each other?"

"She's a friend," he answered evadingly.

"A friend?"

Gerda squirmed: "A contact. Business, nothing else." She gave him a stern look, at which he surrendered. "Damn you people," he muttered. "She is supplying… well, exotic, wares for my business."

"You're a stim dealer?" Bastila blurted.

"Hey!" Duen exclaimed with hurt in his voice. "Down here it is a perfectly respectable trade, but you up-towns," he pointed upwards, "get all awkward when someone as much as says 'spice.'" The Twi'lek suddenly looked very distressed. "Uhh… I am not getting into trouble for that, I hope? I mean… It's really nothing…"

Bastila dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Just tell me what you were doing at the Promenade that day."

"Well, I…" his gaze became distant. "I…" Duen thought hard for a moment. "That's really strange!" he exclaimed with surprise in his voice. "I am sure we talked about some delivery, a contact, or something. But now that you mention it… I can't seem to remember. It's really not like me to forget something like that."

This time Bastila put every ounce of persuasion behind the question; "Are you _sure_ you don't remember?"

"Yes. I don't even understand why people want to question me. I have no idea what happened." He shrugged. "I just happened to know the Senator's secretary, that's all."

Bastila continued to ask detailed questions about the day of the murder. Something was very wrong about Duen's story. He seemed to have completely forgotten parts of what had happened that day, and she could tell he was not lying to her. When she was done questioning him, she thanked Duen for his cooperation. The Twi'lek – who seemed to feel a bit uncomfortable in the presence of a Jedi questioning him about his half illegal business – quickly disappeared behind the drapery.

Bastila gave a deep sigh and leaned towards the counter, her chin resting on one of her hands. _It's never simple, is it?_

The bartender, who had respectfully kept his distance during her conversation with Duen, approached her. The large Besalisk followed her gaze to the drapery. "I think I know something you might find useful."

The bartender walked around the counter and sat down in the same chair Duen Gerda had been occupying moments ago. "Listen, little Jedi: I don't give a Hutt's bald butt about this inquiry that you're obviously a part of." His expression softened. "But I do care about the welfare of my friend over there." He gesture towards the drapery, then pointed at himself. "Name's Gadd. I've been working here for ten years, and I've known Duen just as long."

"I'm Bastila Shan," she replied. "What can you do for me, Mr. Gadd?"

Gadd leaned towards her, and looked around to make sure no one was listening before he spoke. "You see, there has in fact been a visit from some Jedi type. This person came here two days ago, only hours before the officer sent by the Republic came her to ask the same questions as you just did. And I bet that officer received about the same answers as you – that's why the Republic asked the Jedi for help. You see, Duen has been acting all strange since that Jedi person came here. It's like he's gone senile or somethin'. Keeps forgettin' things – or so it seems. Only small details here and there, but enough to make one wonder. I'm beginning to wonder if he's begun smokin' all that spice he's handling, instead of just sellin' it."

Bastila furrowed her brow. "And you think it has something to do with this person who came to visit him?"

"Maybe." Gadd shrugged. "I don't know what kind of trouble Duen is in, but I usually have a reliable gut feeling when it comes to people. And that man who was here the other day gave me an awfully bad feeling, I'm telling you."

Bastila seriously doubted Gadd's theory, but she had nothing else to go on, at the moment. "Who was this person, then? How did you know he was a Jedi?"

"Couldn't tell what he looked like – he had this hood, laying most of his face in shadow. He looked human, though, and I spotted a lightsaber hanging from his belt. And he had a tattoo on his hand. Wait, I'll show you." Gadd pulled up a note pad and drew a symbol. "Dunno of it's much help to you, but in case it is…"

Bastila took a good look to memorize the symbol: A small circle surrounded by a larger one, connected with what looked like three claws pointing outwards. "Thank you for your help, Gadd." She slid down from the chair. "I better be off now."

"Good luck, miss," Gadd called after her when she left.

* * *

Gadd looked after the girl. Since when did the Jedi Council send kids to run their errands? The whole situation confused him. He knew this part of Coruscant like his own pocket, but in the last week strange things had happened. People disappearing – and what was worse: credits disappearing. And it all began with Duen meeting that secretary. He shook his massive head. He hoped the Jedi lass wouldn't get herself into too much trouble. _Well, I did warn her,_ he thought.

Gadd was a 'honest' criminal, as he would put it. He never harmed or threatened – and people knew that. Duen handled the credits, he handled the customers. They were a team of honest, good spice dealers. Gadd didn't pretend he wasn't pleased that the Twi'lek senator had gone and got himself killed – it was just a question of time anyway, after putting an almost complete stop to the ryll export. But he wasn't happy his friend was in the spotlight of the murder investigation that followed.

Later that night, Gadd collected the credits from the day's selling and walked through the drapery, into the office. "Duen?" he asked. The room was empty, and the lights shut down. "Duen?" he asked again, and walked towards the desk in the corner of the room. Gadd felt uneasy. He quickly opened the safety locker and stuffed the credits inside without taking time count them. He was just about to walk out again when he saw a movement in the corner of his eye: A flash of the purple, glowing blade of a lightsaber.

"Merciful death…" A hoarse voice hissed behind him.

Gadd spun around. "You..!"

There was a moment of pain as the lightsaber cut off one of his arms and continued through his torso, and then life left him.

* * *

Bastila gave a sigh of relief when she reached the upper parts of Coruscant. She had hired a taxi to reach the Upper Promenade, located approximately ten kilometers from the Senate Building. The taxi driver stopped the airspeeder in a corner of the large square at the end of the walkway. She handed him some credits and hopped out.

The Upper Promenade was located in one of the finest parts of Coruscant. It was elevated over fifty stories from the rest of the streets, and the citizens here were exclusively upper class. When she stood gazing over the square, Bastila found it hard to believe the misery and filth at the bottom of the bright buildings towering above her head. Wealthy people stood or sat in small groups around the many fountains and monuments. It was an entirely different world.

She turned around towards the building she had asked the taxi driver to take her to. The Ryloth Embassy was a massive, decorated building. A broad staircase led to the entrance, flanked by statues of noble-looking, male Twi'leks. She entered the embassy and was met by a pretty Twi'lek girl dressed in a purple velvet robe.

"I'm looking for Aëlin Laesta. Is she here?" Bastila asked.

The Twi'lek examined her suspiciously. "Who is asking?"

"My name is Bastila Shan, I'm sent here on behalf of the Jedi Council, who are investigating the death of senator Pol Adma."

"I see. Please follow me, then," the Twi'lek said and began walking towards a set of doors at the end of the entrance hall.

Bastila was led to what she assumed was the Senator's office. The room was shaped like one quarter of a circle. The rounded part faced the exterior of the building, and was covered in glass, giving a tremendous view over the bright city below. The room itself was sparsely decorated: Two statues, resembling the ones at the entrance, and some velvet wall-hangings. Behind what looked like an expensive wroshyr-tree desk, sat a beautiful Twi'lek woman: Aëlin Laesta, no doubt. Her skin tone was a very unusual variant of the pale yellow one; Bastila would describe it as 'silver' for lack of better words. The former secretary was dressed in an armless black and purple suit with matching black headbands around her long, well shaped lekku.

Aëlin was leaning back in her chair. "Leave us," she told the Twi'lek who had been escorting Bastila. The servant obeyed immediately. Aëlin then spoke to Bastila. "Sit down, please. What can I do for you? I am honored to be visited by a member of the Jedi Order." Aëlin spoke in an almost overly accurate manner, perfectly pronouncing every word of her flawless intergalactic basic without a trace of Ryloth accent.

Bastila realized the matter was pretty clear, since Aëlin was sitting in her former employer's chair, but still wanted to ask: "Since the senator's demise, who has been appointed temporary representative for the Ryloth system?"

Aëlin gave a delighted laugh. "Is that not clear? I am." She bored her purple eyes into Bastila's, who could not help but feeling slightly uncomfortable in this Twi'lek woman's presence.

"I believe you are familiar with a man named Duen Gerda?" Bastila began hesitantly.

The twi'lek leaned forward, resting her hands and elbows on the desk. "What is it to you?"

Bastila suppressed a gasp, and tried not to look at the pale hands on the desk in front of her. On both her hands Aëlin had tattoos identical to the symbol Gadd had showed her. She felt a prickling, tickling feeling around her neck, as if someone carefully stroked her skin with cold fingertips. The Twi'lek was smiling towards her, and Bastila felt even more uncomfortable. She swallowed hard.

"Very well, then. I will return later. I have to… return to the Jedi Temple." Bastila rose, but before she had a chance to leave Aëlin walked around the desk and took Bastila's hand in hers.

Bastila's innards twisted. Now, when she stood in front of Aëlin, she was definitely sure she was not imagining things: The Twi'lek was a Force adept.

Bastila quickly made her way outside the building. At least she had managed to trick the Twi'lek into believing that her persuasion had worked. It was already late evening, and Bastila decided to return immediately to the Temple. When she arrived she walked directly to Master Vrook's quarters, and knocked on his door. After a few moments, the door opened.

Vrook was surprised to see her. "Bastila. You're back."

"I am sorry, Master." She hesitated for a moment. "I… I need your help."

"This is a test assigned to you. Surely you know I am not entitled to help you, or give you more instructions than you already have received – nor would I wish to."

"Master Vrook, please," Bastila begged. "Will you not listen to what I have to say? I am sorry for disturbing you, but I need your guidance in this. If it turns out I am wrong, I will return to the task, but for now…"

He studied her for a moment, and then nodded. "Very well, come in."

Vrook offered her a chair and they sat down. Bastila quickly told the Master about her discoveries. Vrook asked her what the symbol looked like. She made a quick sketch on his datapad and handed it over to him. The wrinkles on his brow became somewhat deeper as he looked at it.

"Master? Do you recognize it?"

He still studied the sketch with a concerned expression. "Possibly," he replied absently.

"Then what is it?" she asked impatiently.

"You will leave the matter be, until I have investigated this, do you understand?"

Bastila's heart sank. Perhaps this was the answer she should have expected, but not what she had hoped for.

Vrook noticed her disappointment, and added with a softer voice: "Your safety is more important than the test. Tomorrow, I will ask Master Atris about the symbol."

"But if there is a dark Jedi…"

He interrupted her, slightly rising his voice slightly. "You are making conclusions without all of the facts, Miss Shan. I will talk to you tomorrow. For now, get some sleep." Bastila understood that it was useless to discuss the matter further. It angered her, though, that Vrook did not tell her what he knew. She had gathered important facts, and as a reward she was left out of the loop.

When she lay in bed, Bastila found that she couldn't sleep. She pushed aside the frustration and anger she had felt earlier, emptying her mind. But the more she tried, it seemed, the more intense the feelings grew. Her thoughts went back to the investigation. Perhaps she had given up too easily. She had been frightened by some puny Force user and come running back to the Temple like a scared child. Perhaps Master Vrook simply did not think she was competent enough to complete the assignment. And by giving up so easily, she had just proven him right.

Bastila put on a coat and walked out of her quarters.

The man's face was the very definition of serenity, Bastila thought, as she looked upon the face of one of the Four Masters. The huge bronze statue gazed over the Processional Way, watching everyone's comings and goings. When she was a little girl she thought the statues outside the temple were a bit frightening.

_I'm sorry_, she apologized silently. _I'll be back soon._

Bastila hired a taxi to take her to the Rykk'neu's. The street was packed with all kinds of people and the walls were filled with holos and glowing advertising signs. A fight broke out a few steps ahead of her, and she quickly slipped off the main street. She had been right in doing so, because the fighting quickly began to spread. Bastila was just about to get moving again when she felt a Force warning powerful enough to make her gasp. But it was too late: she had only just grabbed her lightsaber when strong hands took hold of her wrists and dragged her deeper into the shadows. She felt a stinging pain from an injector in her thigh. The poison spread quickly in her body, and she was unconscious before she hit the ground.


	3. An Artist of the Mind

**An artist of the Mind**

The meeting with the Supreme Chancellor Adriamne Lochessor was, to say the very least, demanding. When the woman finally left the chamber, accompanied by her bodyguards, everyone present drew a sigh of relief.

Following the Battle of Eres III, Revan had become addressed as "General" Revan. Shortly afterwards, he had used his newly gained power to draw back troops from the Expansion Rim, leaving the inhabitants of those worlds in the hands of the enemy. There had been no quarter to the inevitable Mandalorian attack; millions of civilians were killed or enslaved.

In a desperate attempt to sooth the angered senators, Chancellor Lochessor paid a visit to the Jedi High Council in person. She demanded that the Jedi Council take action against Revan – since he was a member of their Order, his actions were therefore the Council's responsibility, she reasoned. Jedi Masters Vash and Vandar did a grand job in negotiating with the Chancellor, but the matter remained unresolved after the meeting.

Vrook could not decide what he disliked most: Revan's questionable morals, or the Republic Senate's fickle stand towards the Order. One minute, the Jedi were honored as heroes. The next, every loss and mistake was Revan's, and thereby the Council's, fault.

Kavar was first to speak. "We have waited too long. Now it is time to act."

Master Vandar's hologram, crackling slightly from interference, nodded severely. "Revan's actions… are most disturbing news."

Atris quickly filled in, "Already many senators are accusing the Council and the Jedi Order for Revan's crimes."

"Revan's crimes, Atris?" Vash asked with her soft mellow voice. "Every victory, every progress in the war against the Mandalorians for the last months…"

"You heard it yourself! Revan doesn't follow the Jedi ways anymore, if he ever did!" Atris exclaimed. "We have to punish those who have defied the Council, Lonna, or those accusations will continue."

Vandar held out a warding hand towards Atris. "Calm yourself, young Atris. Your anger will not help this matter. We are all saddened by these recent events; you are not alone." He studied the librarian with concern.

"You mean closing them out of the Order?" Kavar realized only after he had uttered the question that these words had been on everyone's mind. An awkward silence followed his utterance.

Atris straightened in her chair. "Yes," she said grimly. "Yes, if it's necessary."

Vash tiredly leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temple with her left hand. "There is something else. The disturbance we felt, it is growing stronger. It feels like we are being watched, but I can't see how…"

Vandar's hologram lowered his head. "Our eyes _are_ clouded – in this you are right, Master Vash. But not of the dark side, I think." He studied the four Jedi Masters in the room, his gaze touching each of them before he spoke again. "You must be careful, when dealing with this matter. Punishment for those who followed Revan is not important. That would only lead to enmity, anger" –he looked straight at Atris, "- and grief."

"Then what do you suggest, Master Vandar?" Kavar asked.

The tiny Jedi Master's gaze became distant. "This war is eating its way into our hearts, even from such great distance. I have felt it, as I am sure you all do."

"That is exactly why we must call those Jedi back. The only alternative we have is to exclude them from the Order," Atris continued her argument, deliberately stressing the final words. "We cannot let this pass. We cannot ignore what has happened."

"We do not ignore anything, Atris," Vrook said, feeling slightly exasperated at her constant interjections. "You are right about one thing, however," he conceded. "We must make an official stand against those who have defied the High Council."

"We should come to a decision," Kavar said. "I suggest we send a message to Revan and all who follow him: All Jedi are to return to the Jedi Temple. Those who refuse to return and face the Council's judgment will be cast out of the Order."

Vrook had expected Master Vandar to disagree with Kavar's plan, but Vandar didn't object, nor did anyone else.

"Then that is how it will be," Kavar concluded.

They were all painfully aware that many Jedi would not return. Vrook doubted those who followed Revan feared punishment – the Order rarely applied such methods. _Perhaps we punish ourselves_, he thought, as he watched the beleaguered faces of the four Jedi Masters in the room. The last months had been an endless conflict to him and all other Jedi. Vrook's frustration grew every day, as if he was attempting to carry too much in his arms, and for every piece he bent down to pick up, three others fell out of his hands.

While walking towards his quarters, Vrook remembered his conversation with Bastila the night before, and that he had planned to ask Atris about the symbol Bastila had shown him. He had completely forgotten about it when he had been called to the meeting with the Chancellor. Immediately his body became strangely cold, and he felt tense and worried. Something was wrong. Vrook concentrated his thoughts on Bastila again, and this time he was sure: She was in danger.

_Young people never learn_, he thought as he made his way to the Great Hall to catch up with Kavar.

* * *

Bastila's body hurt whenever she tried to move. Her eyes were covered, hands and feet shackled. She wasn't sure of how much time had passed since she first woke up; she had been slipping in and out of consciousness for some time.

At first, fear had blocked her every attempt to use the Force. Now she had calmed herself, and she managed to stretch out, scanning her surroundings. There were several individuals in the distance, but as far as she could tell, she was alone. It was cold and damp where she lay. The place smelled of oil, and something that resembled kerosene. Fuel.

Bastila diagnosed herself. She had a slight headache, and her body felt sore. When she tried to recall the previous night, she could only remember small bits, but even those memories were blurred and disconnected. Whatever poison she had been given, she was obviously experiencing some amount of memory loss from the hours before her capture.

Someone entered the room. A man. She felt the Force grow dense around him. The moment she recognized his presence, a prickling and uncomfortable feeling spread in her body, centered inside her head. It was only there for a few moments, and then disappeared. Bastila lifted her head and listened. The man walked over to her. She heard his feet stop beside her.

"Who are you? Where am I?" she asked, surprised by how weak she sounded.

He did not answer. Instead he leaned over her and placed his hands on each side of her head. At first, she didn't understand what he was doing to her. Then she felt her windpipe closing. Bastila gasped for breath and tried to get her hands between herself and her attacker, but he was far stronger. Then the pain hit her. It did not come from the Force. It was inside her, piercing her brain and sending sickening shudders through her body. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think; at least not of anything but the pain.

The pain lessened somewhat, and a memory suddenly appeared. Her father. Her childhood home at Talravin. Their ship. She heard a five year old girl laugh and saw herself running towards her father, smiling. He took her in his arms and lifted her up, and… A shadow enclosed her father, and he slowly faded from the image. Suddenly, Bastila couldn't remember who that man had been. It all seemed so distant, so insignificant.

She clenched her teeth. _No. Get out of my head. Now! _ She pushed back the intruder and in the same moment she felt his grip disappear.

Bastila hyperventilated. As she sucked in one life-giving breath after another, reality slowly returned. And with it came fear and agony. The blood taste in her mouth blended with salty tears and sweat. From a distance she heard a hoarse voice, "Strong, indeed…" Her head felt increasingly heavy, and within moments she fell back into unconsciousness.

When she woke up, she was breathing a little slower. The man – the torturer – had gone. Bastila was still shivering, but this time it was because of the damp cold surrounding her. She wondered where her coat was. The coat?

Some memories from the previous night returned: She had left the Temple without permission, and by doing so defied a direct order from a Jedi Master. A pang of guilt and regret made her eyes begin to water again. _Vrook told me to stay out of it and I disobeyed him_, she scolded herself.Another shudder of cold went through her body. She cried silently and curled up with her knees against her chest, rubbing her legs with her hands. The movement helped to build up some warmth, and after a while she stopped shaking.

The familiar heaviness returned, but this time Bastila welcomed it.

* * *

The Rykk'neu Tar was silent as a grave when Master Vrook entered the bar. In fact, he noticed when he walked through the main room, it _was _a grave. Broken glass, furniture, blood and bodies lay everywhere.

Only minutes after realizing that Bastila was indeed nowhere to be found within the Jedi Temple, Vrook received a call from the Judicial Department. Apparently, a gang fight in the area had escalated, resulting in an out-of-control riot. That was, however, not the reason why the officer had called him.

Vrook swept a blood-stained drapery aside, walked up a couple of steps and looked around in what seemed to be a small, dusty office. In the right upper corner, lying face down, was the corpse of a Besalisk.

"Have you seen any trace of the owner?" Vrook asked.

"No, sir." The young officer accompanying him spoke rapidly, with a hint of nervousness. "No one has seen him since last night."

"Is it not possible that he killed the Besalisk?"

"Highly unlikely, Master Jedi. Cause of death is violence, no question, but the weapon used was a lightsaber."

Vrook walked over to the corpse. A lightsaber had burned through one of the arms and almost cut the body in half. Other than that, there was no evidence as to who did this. The Jedi Master resisted an urge to rub his face. He had felt slightly unfocused, even tired, during this whole day.

A Sith presence on Coruscant. How long had it been here, right under their noses? Vrook hated when he had to admit it, but time was running out. According to the Jedi Temple's security logs, Bastila had been gone for almost twenty hours. He turned on his personal com. "Kavar. I'm at the site. Have you sent anyone to the Embassy?"

Kavar's voice came in. _"I was planning to go there myself, actually. Found anything?"_

"No, nothing. I'm heading for the Promenade now."

"_I'll meet you there, then."_

* * *

Aëlin watched the young girl. Chestnut hair, soft, smooth skin – and if her memory didn't fail her; blue eyes. The Jedi girl lay on her side with her shackled hands folded. She was such a tiny thing, and she appeared to be even smaller now when she laid curled up, helpless on the floor. Aëlin thought she looked like a newborn: innocent and fragile. The Twi'lek closed her eyes while images of her own past replayed behind her eyelids. How she had been offered to a wealthy senator as a gift of friendship, a sign of loyalty. Aëlin vividly remembered how the fear had given in to hopelessness, and in the end – submission.

She pushed the memories aside as she felt the Master approaching. As usual, he shielded his thoughts from her. His mind was a cold, hard wall against hers.

"She is stronger than I thought." The Master's voice was hoarse and rattling, but still maintained its strength.s

"We should kill her," Aëlin said hollowly.

"I would not have thought you would submit to compassion after all the time I have trained you." The Master walked up to the girl and kneeled beside her. He gently stroked a few strands of hair away from the pretty face. The Jedi lass winced under his touch, yanking her head away from his hand.

"She can feel us, can's she?" Aëlin murmured.

"Of course. She is strong in the Force. Perhaps stronger than both of us."

Aëlin wondered what plans her Master had for the girl, but did not dare to ask. "I do not recall feeling anything, when I was weak. There was just… emptiness."

"It is because you were weak, my dear. Now, you are strong, and the emptiness serves you well." The Master rose and walked past her. He stopped in the doorway. "Return to the Embassy. I do not need you here."

"But master, I will…"

"You will obey." The Master's eyes flashed.

Aëlin felt an invisible hand grip her chest, digging its cold nails into her heart. The familiar coolness spread through her body. The Master's voice rang inside her head; _"You acted to soon. Now you must pay the price."_

"I was promised revenge," she hissed. "I took only what YOU promised me!"

When he released her, she fell to her knees, shivering and panting. The hate welled up within her. She gripped her lightsaber, but did not ignite it.

"Ahhh… Aëlin. You're hatred is something out of the ordinary. " The Master laughed. It was a hollow sound, emptied of emotion. She couldn't even understand why the Master chose to laugh at things – at her – when he so clearly did not find anything in this world neither amusing, nor pleasing. "But you cannot kill me," he finished.

Aëlin felt humiliation and hate rage through her whole being. It seared her soul, spreading its venom through every corner of her conscious mind. She used it. She dwelled on it, waiting for the time when she would unleash the power of it. Because not even now, when he fed off her power to sustain his own, dared she kill him.

Just before Ooma left the room he spoke again. "And if you make it through this day, Aëlin, you will have earned your freedom."

Those were sweet words, she thought. Those were the sweetest words she had ever heard. _He lies. I know he lies._

She waited until she was sure Ooma was well out of reach before she picked up three stims from her belt. The Jedi girl stirred in her sleep, already heavily drugged.

"I can't take the risk of leaving you with him," Aëlin mumbled while quickly injecting all three doses of poison in the Jedi's limb arm. _That should be more than enough, even for a Jedi_. "Sleep now, little Jedi." It would take several hours before the Master realized the girl was dying. Aëlin nervously chewed her lip. It was too late to turn back now.

When Aëlin arrived at the Embassy, she received a message that three Jedi were there to talk to her. She entered the building and immediately cursed her luck. Of the three Jedi patiently waiting in the entrance hall, she recognized two of them as Council Members. Jedi Masters.

She put on a cordial smile. "I am honored, Master Jedi. How may I be of assistance?" As she bowed to the visitors, Aëlin's insides knotted. Could they sense her fear? Of course they could.

The tallest Jedi stepped forward. "Thank you, Senator Laesta, but your flattery is not needed. I am Kavar, and this is Mastar Vrook Lamar, and Padawan Kelan Xunn. We need to ask you a few questions. We'll talk in you office." It wasn't a query. The Jedi Master did not hide his intentions behind false politeness.

Aëlin felt like a trapped animal. Her eyes flickered between the other Jedi in the room. Vrook met her glare with cool, expressionless features. Then there was the padawan, a young Kiffar. She could see the exit of the building in the corner of her eye, but as she looked that way, the Kiffar made an almost unnoticeably small move towards the double bladed lightsaber hanging from his belt.

"Yes, of course, Master Jedi," Aëlin said submissively.

Aëlin walked with lowered head. Now and then she glanced at the Jedi walking behind her. If they had come for her, it meant they did not yet know where the Master was. They would question her, no doubt. But she knew she had nothing to fear from Jedi. They would never hurt her unless she deliberately forced them.

They entered the office. Aëlin walked over to the desk, still facing away from the three Jedi. "Hand over your lightsaber," Vrook ordered.

Aëlin did not move or speak. She made an attempt to reach the Master – but felt only emptiness. He had closed her out. Even though she had been expecting this outcome of events, she felt a lot more deserted than she had imagined.

"I will not ask you again. Surrender," the Jedi Master said.

She did not resist when Kavar disarmed her of her only weapon – a lightsaber. Aëlin was still focused inwards. If the Master had decided to get rid of her, it meant he was afraid of her. She was powerful, but also unpredictable and vengeful. A small, satisfied smile played on her lips. The three Jedi were all watching her. All she needed was one moment of distraction. She closed her eyes and gathered her strength. This was the greatest test of her powers so far, but she was well prepared.

Without warning, Aëlin called upon the Force like never before, creating a stasis field around all of the Jedi. While the padawan was completely petrified, her powers were not great enough to affect the Jedi Masters as strongly. The element of surprise helped her, giving her enough time to reach the windows in the back of the room. She took another leap, and threw herself out of the window.

The glass scattered upon impact, and for a moment the air filled with tiny, glittering shards of silver. Aëlin turned around and caught a glimpse of the Jedi Masters' startled faces. Then she and the silver curtain of scattered glass fell out of their sight.

Her eyes watered as the cool air rushed past her. She fumbled with the utility belt until she found the lifeline, then attached a hook to it and fired away. The hook immediately secured itself against the building. She steadied herself with the Force and graciously landed with her feet against the wall.

Now it was time to finish this.

* * *

Vrook was too surprised to react when Aëlin threw herself out of the window. He made a failing attempt to get hold of the Twi'lek, but she was too fast.

Kavar helped his padawan to become free of the stasis. "There is no need to worry. We'll know where she is going," the Weapon Master said.

"How?" Vrook peered downwards through the hole in the glass wall.

"I planted a beacon on her clothes," Kavar said. "I've got a tracker in the air speeder."

Vrook nodded. "Clever. Let's hope she doesn't find out."

One hour later they arrived at West Central Trading Hangar. Kavar switched off the engines and turned to Kelan, sitting in the seat next to him. "Still not moving?"

Kelan, who was monitoring the tracking signal, shook his head. "No. My guess is she's found the beacon. But then again, if she did, the most logical choice would be to destroy it, right? Or plant it on something else to mislead us."

"You're right," Kavar said. "But it's not like we have an alternative."

Kelan lead the way through the hangar. They took an elevator to the bottom floor, and followed the main corridor. The Kiffar finally stopped in front of a broad blast door. A sign indicated that whatever was inside was private property, and that entering without permission was a crime against Coruscant law.

"This seems to be the place." Kelan informed, tucked the tracker into his belt and clipped his lightsaber from it at the same time. "… Reinforced blast door. Tough, but not impossible." He ignited his lightsaber and began melting the lock.

"Strange," Kavar said quietly. "I don't feel anything."

The blast door opened, and the three Jedi stepped inside the hangar. In the far end of the hall a middle-sized freighter stood ready for takeoff. They had entered at the rear of the rather large hangar. There was room enough for three more ships of the same size as the freighter. Kelan furrowed his brow, and checked the tracker again. The device beeped and blinked, indicating that the beacon was close. "It's coming from the ship."

Kavar strode off towards the freighter. Kelan and Vrook followed closely. The signal led them one of the cargo holds. Kavar squatted on the floor and picked up a tiny, transparent object. "Why would she lead us here?" He turned to Kelan "How much time has passed since the signal moved?"

The Kiffar shrugged. "At least fifteen minutes. She could be anywhere by now."

"Let's spread out. Vrook, if you call the Judicial Department, I'll contact maintenance and find out who owns this ship." Vrook nodded. Kavar continued, "Kelan, you will stay here and guard the ship."

"Why do I have to stay?" Kelan glowered at his master. "Wouldn't it be a better idea if both of us searched the surroundings?"

"I disagree. You will wait in the control room in this hangar. If anyone comes here, you contact me on the com. Do not do anything stupid." Kavar leveled his forefinger at Kelan's face.

"Yes Master," Kelan grumbled, not too pleased with the outcome of his protest.

He stationed himself in the control room as ordered, impatiently sauntering back and forth. The young Kiffar wondered what made him so restless. Naturally, he was worried about Bastila. He had never met her until two days ago, but he got the impression that she was kind and friendly, if maybe a bit uncertain of herself. Rumors of her talent in controlling the Force had reached his ears long before that, and he had expected her to be the kind of person whose self-esteem made everyone in her vicinity pale in comparison.

Kelan knew was he was a small wonder compared to Bastila, but he had talents worth reckoning as well. He had learned more lightsaber forms than any other padawan of his age, and in addition to this, he had mastered several Echani techniques. Armed or not, Kelan excelled in all forms of combat.

The second of his major abilities came with his heritage. As a Kiffar, Kelan was gifted with a psychometric ability. He could use psycometry to 'read' memories attached to objects, and because of his strong affinity with the Force, his abilities reached far beyond that of any ordinary Kiffar. Upon skin contact, he could feel another's mind. Sometimes he caught glimpses of the person's future, as well as the past. Because of this, Kelan had been advised not to 'read' anything. The Jedi Masters considered his ability to be dangerous; they felt it would expose him to 'harmful influences'. Kelan himself believed that if he were lacking control of his powers, it was likely because no Jedi seemed willing to teach him how to control his gift. Instead, they had chosen to ignore it, hoping that in time he would too.

"Always a _danger_," he muttered to himself,

Kelan was so deep in thought he at first didn't notice the small procession of four black-clad figures emerging from the opposite end of the hangar. He studied them for a moment. They wore dark cloaks much like the Jedi robes. Three of the figures wore a mask colored black and purple. The forth, who was walking a bit ahead of the rest, instead wore a hood that lay his face in shadow.

Kelan frowned. As the figures moved closer to the ship he spotted a glimpse of silver in their belts. Lightsabers. He was just about to turn on his comlink when he saw how the leader lowered his hood, talking to his three underlings.

Kelan's heart hammered. He recognized that man. _It couldn't be. It was impossible._ His hand was shaking as he punched in the button on his comlink. "Master, I need you here – yesterday!"

He pushed the door open and sprinted towards the small group. Without any thought of self-preservation, Kelan ignited his double bladed lightsaber and made a huge leap towards the leader.

His attack was parried by a purple lightsaber. The man took two staggering steps backwards. At first, he seemed mildly taken back by Kelan's violent attack. Then the aged, greyish face screwed itself up in a mocking grin. The man's rattling voice sounded almost amused. "We meet again, Kelan."

"_Ooma!_" Kelan raged back.

* * *

Kavar felt the warning in the same time he received Kelan's call, and ran for all he was worth. He entered the hangar and saw his padawan fighting at a serious disadvantage. Kelan was exceptionally skilled for his age, but against three dark Jedi and their Master, the Kiffar could do little but defend himself. Kavar threw himself into the fight just as Kelan received a powerful force push from the Sith Master. The padawan crashed into the ship's hull, and fell unconscious to the ground.

Vrook appeared just after Kavar did, and threw a stasis field on the dark Jedi. Then he and Kavar engaged the Sith Master together. Before long, Kavar saw an opening as the enemy let down his guard for a fraction of a second, and took the chance. The lightsaber cut through the robe – but then it deflected against some kind of energy shield.

Kavar just about blocked a counter attack and was forced backwards. In the corner of his eye he saw that one of the dark Jedi had got free of the stasis and ran up the gangplank to the freighter.

The Sith Master changed to a defensive guard, slowly backing towards the ship. "You Jedi were always foolish," he hissed. "But perhaps I should be grateful. After all, your pathetic ethics are the reason I am still alive."

"In the name of the High Council, you are under arrest," Kavar began, but stopped as the Master turned around and ran towards the loading ramp. Kavar and Vrook followed, but then the two remaining dark Jedi broke free of the stasis and hurried to their master's aid. Kavar killed the first of the dark Jedi with a single blow, and Vrook engaged a fight with the other one. The ship's engines were firing up just as the Master disappeared into the ship, with the entering ramp closing behind him.

Kavar looked at Kelan's motionless body, lying dangerously close to the main engine outlet. He ran over to his apprentice and heaved the young Kiffar over his shoulder just as Vrook struck down the last at the dark Jedi. Kavar carefully put down Kelan a safe distance from the ship. The boy was already beginning to wake up. Kavar checked him for any serious injuries. Other than minor lightsaber burns and some bruises, Kelan seemed alright.

There was an ear-deafening sound for a few seconds as the ship took off. Vrook switched off his lightsaber. "I have called the Judicial Department. They will be on their way to intercept that ship." He bent down to take a closer look on the dark Jedi he had just killed. He loosened the metallic mask, revealing the face of a boy, no more than seventeen years old. Kavar grimaced, and couldn't help glancing back at his padawan.

"Krath," Vrook said simply, pulling up the dead boy's sleeve. On his wrist was a tattoo identical to Aëlin's.

"Krath?" Kavar looked questioningly at him. "The Krath are gone."

"No they aren't," Vrook said and closed the boy's eyes. "They are scattered. If I am not mistaken, this mark is one of the ones used by a faction of the Krath sect."

Kelan moaned something intelligible and managed to get himself to a sitting position. Kavar kneeled beside him. "You okay?" he asked, handing over Kelan's lightsaber over to him. The Kiffar nodded and rose stiffly, swiftly dusting his robes.

"Do you know where Bastila is yet?" the padawan asked.

"No. Don't worry, we'll find her," Kavar reassured.

Kelan steadily met his gaze. "I can find her," he said. "Just give me the lightsaber you took from the secretary. I can read it and find out what has happened to Bastila."

"Absolutely not," Kavar replied instantly. There had been a hint of desperation in Kelan's voice which made Kavar uncomfortable. Kavar had no wish to let his padawan make a dive into the mind of a dark Jedi.

"Kavar, let him do it," Vrook murmured. "I sense we are short on time."

Kavar pressed his lips together into a thin line while studying his padawan. Kelan waited with his hand outstretched. He is as stubborn as he is brave, Kavar thought, and reluctantly handed the Twi'lek's lightsaber to the padawan.

Kelan took deep breath and focused, holding the lightsaber in his hand. His eyes were open, but unfocused. Kelan had an expression of utmost concentration, and that calmed Kavar somewhat – the boy seemed to know what he was doing, at least. Kavar did not know much of psychometry, but he more than well understood that his padawan had an unusually strong gift.

More than a minute passed while they waited for Kelan to find out what they needed to know. The bond Kavar and his padawan had begun to forge was still weak, and whatever Kelan was experiencing, Kavar could not sense anything but the destructive, nameless hate that signified the dark side.

After what seemed like a lesser eternity, Kelan's eyes finally focused again. He had paled visibly and perspiration had appeared on his forehead. "I know where she is…" he said under his breath. "We have to run."

Kelan turned on his heal and dashed out of the hangar without another word. Kavar and Vrook followed closely.

* * *

_When Bastila opened her eyes, she was in a room filled with shadows. She was frightened, but when she tried to run away, she could not stand. Her hands and feet were in shackles. She lay on a stone altar. A metallic voice laughed sadistically and a surge of pain hit her. As the lightning slowly trailed off, she felt fear and hate – most of all hate – towards that voice. _

"_You are strong, child. But I will break you!"_

_She turned her head to see who was talking, but it was too dark. He would not break her, she thought, and the hate towards that voice gave her strength to outlast another wave of lightning._

"Bastila!" a voice called after her.

Firm hands gripped her shoulders. "Bastila, talk to me," the voice pleaded.

_Master Kavar?_

The Jedi Master's presence drove away the shadows, and the darkness slowly gave way for the light. He lifted her in his arms. She fell into tears, boring her head into his shoulder. The world still spun, and her body still hurt, but she was safe.


	4. Atonement

**Atonement**

"How many of those will I have to take?" Bastila asked the medical droid as she received her third injection that day.

"During the next thirty hours, exactly fourteen injections, of which you have had three so far, Miss Shan. Is there anything else you need?"

"No, thanks." She sighed and rubbed the spot on her arm where she had received the shot – it had begun to feel a bit sore. The droid left her with a 'have a nice day.'

Bastila was beginning to feel restless – she had been awake several hours now. Belonna, the healer in charge of the hospital wing, had specifically ordered her to stay in bed for at least two days. The poisons those Sith scum had used almost killed her, Belonna had told her. She was lucky the little rescue team had found her when they did, or she might have been lost. Bastila had little memory of what happened when her captors kept her drugged, but she could recall more than enough to understand just exactly how much trouble she had been in.

There was a polite knock on the door.

"Come in," she answered.

Belonna appeared in the opening. "The Council will see you now. I expect you to return here immediately afterwards. Understood?" The short, squat woman's stern features made it clear that she would allow no protests.

Bastila hung her head when she entered the Council chambers, surveying the Jedi Masters from under her brow: Master Kavar, Master Atris, Master Vrook, and Master Vash. They were the only members currently present on Coruscant.

Master Vash broke the silence, "Bastila Shan. You were sent to investigate the murder of Senator Pol Adma three days ago."

Had it been three days? Bastila quickly backtracked her memory.

Vash continued, "You gathered information pointing at a Sith presence on Coruscant, and you shared this information with your appointed mentor, Master Vrook. Master Vrook then specifically ordered you to stay out of the investigation until he had sought the council of other Masters here on Coruscant. Is that correct?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"You defied my orders, and thereby also the Council," Vrook admonished. "Why?"

Bastila felt the shame burn on her cheeks, but she forced herself to look into his eyes. "I was angry," she confessed.

"And why was that?"

"Because I felt you were closing me out, after I had discovered so much. I wanted… I wanted to complete the assignment by myself, to gain your favor." Bastila felt very small under the surveillance of the gathered Jedi Masters. They all watched her intently, and Bastila understood that complete honesty on her part was the only acceptable return.

Vrook's demeanor did not soften at this confession; quite the opposite. "Your defiance and ignorance is disturbing, Bastila. You disappoint me."

"You disappoint all of us," Kavar agreed in an equal manner. "We have high hopes for you. Had Master Vrook expected anything but that you would submit to his directions, he would have taken proper precautions to make sure you did not leave the Temple. So was not the case, however, and by your actions you put yourself and others in grave danger."

Bastila wished she could disappear. She already knew she had failed the final part of the test, but now it became so painfully clear: She would never become a padawan. She had not only failed the test, she had wasted her chances of ever becoming a full member of the Jedi Order. A lump was growing in her throat. She swallowed the tears and decided that she would at least show some dignity before she left the room. "I am sorry I disobeyed you, Master Vrook. I truly am."

There was a moment's silence.

"You have mine, and the Council's, forgiveness, Bastila," Vrook said slowly. "But in the future, I will not tolerate such ignorant and foolish behavior from you." The Jedi Master waited a few seconds, and then added: "Padawan."

Bastila gawked at him, speechless. She had passed? How was that even possible?

"You may leave," Kavar told her.

She hesitated for a moment, then bowed to the masters and half walked, half jogged, out of the chamber. Bastila's hands were shaking. In fact, her whole body was shaking. When she entered the hospital wing she was met by Belonna. The healer walked up beside her. "Well, well. Padawan at last. But the price was high."

Belonna was some full two hands shorter than Bastila, but surprisingly strong. She grabbed Bastila's wrist and dragged her off to her bunk. Bastila sighed and obediently lay down. Belonna walked to the room next to hers, and returned carrying a tray of food.

"I didn't like you running around in the Temple – the meeting with the Council was an exception. I told them that if they needed to see you again they would have to come here."

"Um… I feel fine, really," Bastila said. But in truth she was very tired.

However exhausted she was after her adventure, Bastila couldn't sleep during the whole day. Some friends came to pay her a visit, but most of the time she was left alone. The room was dark and silent. Bastila twisted in the sheets. It was late afternoon and yet she had not managed to get any sleep at all. Her thoughts kept her mind too busy.

Someone knocked on the door. The visitor did not wait for her to answer, but opened the door. The outside corridor was bright, revealing a silhouette of a mid-height, slender woman dressed in Jedi robes.

"I am so sorry, Bastila," the woman said.

It took a few moments for Bastila to recognize the voice. It belonged to the Jedi Master who first chose her to become a padawan four years ago, but the familiar warmth was now blended with sadness and bitterness.

"Lights, thirty percent," Bastila said aloud.

The lights turned on, revealing Sebastin's dark, gracious features, dressed in cream-white robes. The hair still had not a single grey strand in it.

For the second time that day, Bastila did not know what to say. Sebastin took a few steps towards her, approaching carefully.

"Master Tra. I did not know of your return." Bastila could hardly believe the sound of her own voice. She sounded so calm and reserved, compared to the turmoil within.

"I wish things could have been different," Sebastin said quietly. Bastila nodded and looked down at her hands, resting on her lap. The Jedi Master continued, "Four years ago, I asked you to become my student. My padawan."

"I remember," Bastila replied warily.

There was a long silence during which the women surveyed each other. Bastila's thoughts roamed back and forth. She couldn't decide weather she should be overjoyed, relieved, angry, or disappointed. Instead, she just felt empty.

Sebastin spoke again, ever so calmly. "I wanted you to know that my offer still stands. Give it some thought." She offered a small smile and then left the room, closing the door behind her.

Bastila turned off the lights. Meeting Sebastin had stirred up many memories. She vividly remembered the day when Sebastin came to Dantooine. The courtyard had been almost empty that day even though the weather was great. Bastila had been playing with Paloma and Driss – her two best friends at the time – when suddenly a small passenger ship flew past them towards the landing pad. Of course, Bastila had met Sebastin many times before. Like everyone else, Bastila immediately had taken a liking to the compassionate, charismatic Jedi Master. It was difficult not to.

'_Bastila, I have come to ask a very important question.'_

'_Have you come to teach us more about beasts? Will you teach us how to tame wild animals – like you said you would?'_

'_Not this time, Bastila. I have come to ask if you would like to become my student. My padawan.'_

Bastila smiled at the memory. She had been so young back then, and still it was only four years ago. Bastila wondered if the secretive Jedi Master would ever tell her where she had been, or why she left to begin with. When Bastila came to think of it, it was almost like this strange disappearance was a natural part of the peculiar mystique that surrounded Sebastin.

* * *

Kavar closed the door to his private quarters. He had asked Kelan to come here, as he did not wish them to be disturbed. Reports and questions had practically rained on him the whole day, and not until late night had he had a moment to talk with his padawan about what transpired the day before.

Kelan was sulking in one of two armchairs by the window. "Hi," the Kiffar greeted abruptly. His stance was clearly defensive; looking out the window, arms crossed over his chest. Had the situation not been so serious, Kavar might have laughed at the childish expression the teenager displayed.

"I did not ask you to come here to argue with you," Kavar began diplomatically. Kelan only shrugged grumpily, but Kavar felt his padawan's distress and anger. The Jedi Master sat down in an armchair facing Kelan. The padawan changed his position so that he would not have to turn away to avoid Kavar's inquiring look.

Kavar sighed tiredly. "You make things so difficult sometimes. Tell me when you are ready to speak." He rose and began to walk towards the door.

"Wait," Kelan said quietly. "I am sorry. It's just… I don't know how to tell you this…" He ended the sentence with a frustrated sigh.

Kavar stopped and turned to face his padawan, feeling slightly exasperated. _Teenagers_, he thought. "Do you realize how lucky you are to be alive? What you did was not brave. It was foolish."

Kelan gritted his teeth. "I could not let them get away! I had to do something, or… or…" The Kiffar suddenly gave an anguished roar and slammed a clenched fist into the wall.

Kavar slowly walked back to the armchair and sat down again. "I should never have let you lay hands on that lightsaber. I can see that now."

"That has nothing to do with it!" Kelan shot him an angry glare. "You don't know anything…"

Kavar was completely taken back by Kelan's behavior. His padawan was usually very calm – almost reserved – and focused; an example to most Jedi. Kavar felt like he didn't know the young Kiffar sitting in the room. He shook his head in distress. "You're right," he conceded. "I don't know. But if you want to talk, I am willing to listen."

Kelan looked at Kavar and then nodded. "Okay," he agreed. "But it's a long story."

"I've got all night."

"Right," Kelan mumbled and took a shivering breath to calm himself. "The Sith Master we encountered has a name; Ooma. And I've met him before," the Kiffar said gravely. He closed his eyes and added with a broken voice, "What has happened is entirely my fault."

* * *

After another rather lonely day in the hospital wing, Bastila was restless and bored beyond recognition. When Belonna finally declared that she was free to leave, Bastila headed straight for her quarters and changed into her new padawan robes. Since vanity was not exactly considered a virtue within the Order, there was no mirror in her room. She walked out into the hallway outside the dormitories, where the afternoon sun shone into the room. Bastila watched her lit-up reflection in the large windows at the end of the hall, admiring the view. The robes fit perfectly. She turned left, then right, and realized she was still missing her lightsaber – it had been taken from her when she was captured: another failure. Her heart sank.

Half an hour later she stood outside Sebastin's room. The door was open. Sebastin's quarters were lit up by several large windows. The room was shaped like an oval with an opening on the far end, leading to a small dormitory from which Sebastin emerged.

"It is good to see you again, Bastila," the Jedi Master greeted. "I am glad you decided to come."

Bastila nodded tensely.

"You have grown since I last saw you," Sebastin said. "And not just in a physical manner."

Bastila nodded again. She knew she ought to say something, but the words did not come as willingly as they often did. Sebastin was much like Bastila remembered her; cordial and compassionate, with a gaze that seemed to see straight through you. Neither had she aged one bit, Bastila noticed. Bastila intensely wished she could look away from the anger and hurt in her heart, and simply choose forgiveness instead. But she knew that it would never be that simple, not now and not later. Sebastin seemed to know what she was thinking.

"I have wronged you," Sebastin said softly. "But if it is not in your heart to forgive, I don't think you would have come here today."

Bastila's hands were clasped tightly together. She held her breath a moment before speaking. "Why did you leave?"

Sebastin gave her a long, severe look. "I have though about how to answer that question. The truth is that right now I can't tell you. But I promise that I will do so one day. Be content with that." It was an honest answer, but it made Bastila none the wiser.

A sudden dizziness made Bastila stagger, losing her balance for a moment. Sebastin grabbed her shoulders and straightened her.

"Are you all right?" the Jedi Master asked.

Bastila gently swept Sebastin's hands away. "Yes. I am just tired. The last days have been quite… eventful. First off I was captured by Sith who drugged me and tortured me. Then I was rescued – probably in the very last minute. And yesterday the Council said I had passed the test somehow and that I am a padawan…" Bastila lowered her voice. "I don't understand why they would let me pass. I failed. I know I did."

"You did what you thought was right, every moment," Sebastin reassured. "And as for the Council, I am sure they believed that you have learned something important. You showed the courage and maturity required of a padawan learner."

Before she knew it, Bastila smiled. "You have other things you wanted to talk about, haven't you?"

Sebastin studied Bastila with concern. "Nothing so urgent that I cannot allow you another night's sleep, I assure you."

"No." Bastila straightened. "I want you to tell me."

Sebastin nodded. "Alright, then." Bastila and Sebastin sat down in pair of armchairs by the windows. Sebastin placed her hands on the armrests and began, "Actually, this has all been an interesting coincidence. Did you know that the Besalisk you spoke to three days ago was killed shortly after you left?"

"No," Bastila shook her head. "What happened?"

"He was killed by Sith," Sebastin said. "It looks like the Sith Master you encountered has tried to cover all his tracks before leaving. Vrook didn't take any bigger notice to this fact, but I happen to know just how important Gadd was to Coruscant's underworld."

Bastila's mouth fell slightly open. "You knew of that Sith Master? And Gadd? Why wasn't I informed?"

Sebastin shrugged and smiled wryly. "Let's just say the council wasn't properly informed about my activities at that time. As for the Sith Master; I didn't know of him before. But I do recognize the influence of the Dark side when I see it, and I've suspected it's involvement for quite some time."

Sebastin explained further, "I have been investigating the slave trade that has been more or less booming ever since the war started. I want to find what's driving it forward and disable it as much as I can. And the best way to accomplish this is to find out what people are providing sedatives for the slavers."

Bastila chipped in, "Duen and Gadd were important to your investigation somehow, I understand?"

"Indeed they were." Sebastin nodded. "I have been following their business for quite some time. When the Ryloth Senator, Pol Adma, strangled the ryll trade, many stim dealers were out of market. Only a few remained, and all those sold a substance called 'Leech,' which is used as a more expensive, but far more powerful, supplement for ryll. I paid no attention to these events – or what was happening at the Embassy. I just wanted to get to the slavers. That was my mistake," she added regretfully.

Bastila shifted nervously. "Did… did they run any tests on the poisons I was given during my capture?"

"Yes," Sebastin answered severely. "You were given Leech, but in such a high dose that it would have rendered you brain-dead within hours. What eventually saved you was likely your Jedi training."

Bastila was taken aback by the intense discomfort and fear the memories caused her. She tried to drive the feeling away, but it still lingered at the back of her mind. She shuddered. "We must find Aëlin Laesta. She killed the Senator."

"Yes, but not alone, I think," Sebastin said. "Duen Gerda helped her."


	5. Making decisions

**Making decisions**

Aëlin watched the other Twi'lek in the room, curled up in a corner. He was shivering slightly, his whole being reeking of fear. Protectively holding his arms around his lekku, Duen slowly stood up. "I've known you for a year! Why are you doing this? Who _are_ you?"

Aëlin ignored him.

They were hiding, just the two of them, in a filthy cellar in the lowest, murkiest parts of Coruscant. Aëlin knew she would have to move soon, or the Jedi would find her. But where would she go? She glanced at Duen. He was such a pathetic creature. He had served his purpose, but she hadn't killed him. Not yet.

"I need a ship," she said with a soft voice.

"What?" he squeaked.

She hit him with a burst of force lightning. Duen screamed, then began sobbing as the pain trailed off. Aëlin snorted at the pathetic demeanor of this ex spice trader. "Unless you have something useful to say," she spat, "keep that stinking hole in your face shut, or I'll end your miserable existence permanently."

Duen glowered at her. "Then kill me, wench! Females lack the courage…"

"Shut up!" Aëlin slapped him several times. "SHUT UP!"

She calmed herself, and changed into a soft, persuading voice: "I need a ship to get us out of here." She extended her hand towards him to stroke his cheek, ignoring the wave of revulsion the action caused. "I can save us both; I've contacted some friends of mine. They will help up. But I need a ship." The trick worked, as it always did. Duen relaxed, fear and pain forgotten the moment she touched him.

He looked admiringly at her and smiled meekly. "I know where we can find one."

"Show me."

Aëlin waited until night before she dared go outside. If she had used a taxi, or stolen air speeder, it would have taken only a few minutes to reach their destination. Instead, they walked several kilometers through the crowded, dark streets till they reached the hangar Duen had told her about. It wasn't much of a hangar, for that matter. The shabby, filthy fifty-store complex was a hideout for all kinds of offworld scum. The badly maintained landing platforms were used only by those who either could not afford the rent of a decent hangar, or whose ships were in such a bad shape the extremely low risk of theft wasn't worth more.

Duen lead the way through a crowded sub street, over a small plaza and through a tight passage between two walls. He stopped in front of a small, circular blast door. "This is it, but I don't have the codes."

"Don't be an idiot." She picked up a couple of security spikes from her belt and quickly opened the lock. On the other side was a landing platform, not more than a hole in the building, on which a small passenger shuttle stood. "Does it have a navcomputer?" she asked.

"No." Duen shook his head and began walking towards the ship. "But if my memory doesn't fail me, there should be an astromech droid onboard with a decent set of astro charts." Aëlin smirked. It wasn't such a bad idea to keep Duen alive, after all. He was pathetically easy to manipulate, but very resourceful.

The droid was onboard, and it seemed to recognize Duen as one of its masters, because it obediently got to work when he asked it to prepare the ship. Permission for take-off wasn't a problem. Authorities had little control over these small, unimportant hangars. Aëlin didn't begin hyperspace routines immediately – she didn't want any possible observers to think they were in a hurry. As soon as they had put some distance between themselves and Coruscant, she ordered the astromech droid to set course.

"Upload _Yag'dhul _system coordinates."

* * *

It was late evening. Kelan was alone in one in a small, sparsely lit, circular room. He hesitated for a moment before pressing a series of buttons on the large holocom standing on the floor in front of him. The image fluttered for some moments, but then the signal came in clear. A tall, broad shouldered man with grim features stepped in view. Kelan watched the hologram for a few moments. He always felt a little bit intimidated when talking to his father. Gardred Xunn was a fierce warrior, Sheyf of Kiffu and Kiffex, and leader of Clan Xunn. 

Gardred was wearing his battle armor with the silver triangle on his shoulder – Clan Xunn's emblem. A newly acquired scar leapt over the yellow marking on the left side of his face.

"Kelan. I did not expect to hear from you so soon." Gardred said flatly with his gravelly voice. A man in Gardred's position did not have the luxury of showing when something was troubling him, but Kelan still got a feeling that something was weighing him down.

"I have news, father," Kelan began slowly, feeling slightly awkward. "This is very inconvenient, but I need your help. Ooma has escaped."

Gardred nodded seriously. "Didn't I tell you that would happen?"

Kelan grimaced from discomfort. He imagined rather than heard his father's admonishing tone.

Gardred continued, "Very well. There are other reasons as well why I need you to return home. It's Jeric." Kelan instantly reacted at the mention of his brother's name. "He is determined to join Revan."

Kelan didn't know what to say for a moment. Two years separated him and Jeric, but while Kelan had been trained as a Jedi on Coruscant since age of three, Jeric had grown to become more like their father: willful and proud, facing what he considered duty with grim determination.

"Kiffu is not a part of the Republic, you have no obligations to send anyone," Kelan said, though he knew his father was well aware of the circumstances – being one of the major spokesmen for joining the Republic.

The Sheyf waved his hands dismissively. "Yes, yes! But the sad fool claims that if we are ever to join the Republic, we must prove our stand. And he is not alone. We have dozens of Guardians who are willing to follow him. He's becoming some kind of politician – it doesn't suit him," Gardred grumbled.

Kelan smiled to himself. At least Jeric had a small heritage of their mother, whom had been Gardred's opposite in almost every way. Gardred was a brute, though his skill with the vibroblade was unmatched in the entire Kiffu system. Kelan's mother, on the other hand, had been a good tactician and a supreme diplomat, though her fighting skills had been more than formidable as well.

"I know what you're thinking, Kelan," Gardred growled and his hologram straightened its back with crossed arms over its chest. "But it's enough that one of my sons submit to… well, to whatever teachings they're stuffing you with on Coruscant. I need Jeric here on Kiffu. It would be most helpful if you would talk him out of it. He won't listen to me." No matter how Gardred used words, everything he said came out as an order. The Sheyf added, more quietly, "And if he goes, I need someone to help me on Kiffex."

In a way, Kelan realized, he really didn't have a choice. He would do anything for his brother, and his father knew that. "I'll come as soon as I have talked to Master Kavar."

"Make it quick: I don't know how long I can convince Jeric to stay. The stubborn fool," Gardred sighed. "Just…come soon."

Kelan made a slight bow. "I'll come. I promise. Goodbye, and may the Force be with you."

Gardred smiled at the expression. "Goodbye." His image disappeared in a buzz of blue static.

Kelan remained in the room while trying to figure out what to do. He knew Gardred was trying to lure him back to Kiffu – his father had been doing that ever since Kelan had been old enough to control his gift for psychometry. Most apprentices were strongly discouraged to contact their family, but for reasons Kelan did not know, the Jedi seemed to take this rule more lightly in his case. He was thankful for this. Kelan had liked his mother very much when she lived, and when she was killed during a mission on Kiffex, he resorted to the Jedi ways to handle his grief. In a way he had received the best of both lives – being a Jedi, and the son of the Sheyf family Xunn.

_Half an hour later…_

"No."

Kelan stared blankly his Master, who was walking a few steps ahead of him. "What do you mean, 'no'? I must go. Clearly you understand that, Master. There really isn't any alternative."

"This matter is nothing you should worry about, padawan. You should focus on you training," Kavar replied as if he had not heard Kelan's protest. "Going to Kiffu will not help anyone, least of all yourself." He stopped in front of an elevator leading to the Council chamber and pressed a button.

"He's my brother," Kelan pleaded. "I must explain why he mustn't join Revan in the war. Jeric may not be a Jedi, but he is equally important to me. And if he goes, my father…"

Kavar interrupted him sternly, "Listen to yourself, Kelan. This is precisely the reason why most Jedi relinquish contact with their relatives. Your father has always wanted to get you back. What if your brother still goes to war? Will you stay on Kiffu then?"

Kelan considered his Master's words for a few moments; he had not thought as far as that. "I assumed I would be able to talk him out of it," he said tentatively.

"I know this might seem a bit harsh, but for now I must ask you to remain here." Kavar did not use the stern, admonishing tone he usually adopted when they had this kind of discussion, but the message was clear as a bondar lightsaber crystal. "I will see you this evening for the sparring, I presume?" Kavar asked.

Kelan murmured something that resembled 'yes' in response.

"Good. Now, you must excuse me, I've got an important meeting with the Council." Kavar entered the elevator and the door closed behind him.

The Weapon Master quickly forgot about his padawan's request. Instead, his thoughts headed towards the reason for today's meeting. Once again, Revan had proved his worth. The believed disaster three days earlier had, as he had begun to suspect, been a feint to lure the Mandalorian fleet into unknown territory. Several important Mandalorian commanders had been killed in the latest attack. Supreme Chancellor Adriamne Lochessor, and the Senate in union, had decided to give Revan absolute command over one third of the Republic's entire fleet, the loss of civilian lives in previous stages of the war seemingly forgotten.

Five months, Kavar thought. All Revan needed was five months, and already he had become a living legend. Before, when it became clear that the Jedi Council was not supporting Revan's decision to got to war, his name was but a discreet whisper in the Temple halls. Now it was spoken aloud.

The doors to the Council chamber swung open and Kavar entered. The others had already gathered and were waiting for him. He took his seat.

Vash held a remote control belonging to the chamber's holocom in her hand. Her eyes were slightly puffy – from tears or sleeplessness. She pulled a hand though her fringe. "I must sadly report that none of Revan's underlings have answered our request. All we received was this." She activated a medium-sized holocom, placed in front of the middle stone.

The blue buzz formed into a figure of an armored and robed, tall man, wearing a black mask. "_I greet you, my former masters._" The figure bowed. "_I and all who follow me have reviewed your demand that we are to return to Coruscant. Regretfully, we must decline_."

"Who is that?" Kavar whispered. But he, as well as all the gathered Masters in the room, knew perfectly well who the masked figure was.

"_I also want to send a message to all remaining Jedi: The Republic appreciates your effort to uphold law and order much more than you know, as do I. Neither do I think any less of you who choose to stay. However, anyone who wishes to join my cause, and save the Republic, is welcome to do so."_

Revan was a truly admirable speaker, Kavar thought; diplomatic, correct and charismatic.

"_We do what we have to do. Now, we need to win this war. May the Force be with you. Goodbye_." Revan's masked figure bowed again, and the recording ended.

An impenetrable silence spread within the Chamber. Somehow, Revan's mask explained more than his words: He had not been given, but _chosen,_ the role of a living legend. Another, more painful thought entered Kavar's mind. Did _she_ wear a mask as well? Kavar imagined the young, bright-eyed padawan hiding behind a black facade like Revan's. He couldn't conceive of it.

Vash said quietly, "Apparently, these kinds of messages have been sent everywhere."

"I say we wait," Kavar suggested. Three pairs of eyes turned to him.

"Wait?!" Atris stared at him with disbelief. "With all due respect: Are you mad?"

"There is nothing we can do," Kavar said. "The Republic trusts Revan enough to grant him command over one third of its entire army. _One third,_ Atris. And in addition to this, he has more than one thousand Jedi at his disposal. Jedi who are now – as a result of our decision two days ago – no longer members of our Order."

"Perhaps that is what he wanted," Vrook mumbled.

"We cannot know that!" Vash's loud protest came in. Once she had everyone's attention her voice softened: "Has it occurred to any of you that perhaps we have been too judgmental?"

"We don't know anything about his intentions," Vrook sighed. "And that makes me feel uneasy."

Vash gnawed on her lip while considering his words, then nodded. "I know what you mean." She added, with a careful smile: "Well, at least we could look at it from the bright side; no more accusations from prissy senators."

Vash's comment brought much needed relief from the pressed atmosphere in the room. It even brought a small smile to Vrook, whose deep scowl lightened for a moment.

"We have another issue to discuss," Vrook informed. "I have invited Master Sebastin Tra to this meeting to bring forth this particular matter."

The chamber's doors opened and Sebastin emerged in the opening. She walked down the stairs and stationed herself in the center of the room, beside the middle stone.

Vrook cleared his throat. "Welcome, Master Sebastin. We know you have been investigating Core World slavers the last month."

"Yes, that is correct. And I have a request." Sebastin's calm gaze touched each one of the Jedi Masters. "It appears that the source I had been investigating for some time also had a connection to the recently unveiled Sith presence on Coruscant. Recent events also point at connections with remains of the former Krath Order, something I am sure you all understand we cannot ignore. I would ask for permission to travel outside the Core Worlds with my padawan and track down the source of this inconvenience."

Vrook nodded. "I understand that you have yet another request, Master Sebastin?"

"Yes." She turned to face Kavar. "It concerns your padawan, Master Kavar. I have been told by Master Vrook that Kelan recently used psychometry to read memory imprints from a lightsaber belonging to Aëlin Laesta. By this action he didn't only save padawan Shan's life, but also discovered much needed information on Aëlin. I ask for the Council's permission to bring both padawan Shan and padawan Xunn with me on this mission."

Atris immediately interjected, "The Code forbids it."

"I am well aware of what the Code says," Sebastin retorted coolly. "And I do not wish to take on a second padwan learner. I wish Kelan to accompany me and Bastila because I am certain his help will be valuable."

"I suppose the Council could permit this," Vash said slowly and gestured towards Kavar. "But the decision lies with Master Kavar."

Kavar realized everyone was watching him. "I will consider this request, though I would like to discuss this matter further with Master Sebastin, alone."

"Of course." Vash checked the chronometer, and then rose from her seat. "I guess that concludes this meeting. Now, you must excuse me, I have lessons to attend to. Goodbye." She bowed to the gathered Jedi Masters and left the room, closely followed by Atris.

Sebastin waited until the Atris had gone before she spoke. "I heard Revan answered your call. What did he say?"

"He is sending his regards," Vrook said sourly.

"I see." Sebastin nodded. "This turn of events is not exactly unexpected, if I would have my say. By the way, I hear you are going back to Dantooine?"

Vrook nodded. "Yes. My work here is done, for the moment at least."

Kavar listened absently to the conversation. He was leaning forwards, supporting his chin with his hand, elbows resting on his knees. His eyes followed the rim of the holocom, but his mind was somewhere on the edge of Republic space, wondering what had become of a certain young Knight. It took a while before he realized Sebastin was watching him. Vrook had already left. Her current serene expression created a very notable contrast to the light, informal tone she had used moments earlier. Kavar wondered if she used these changes of manners to unsettle people; to catch them off guard. When she spoke, her voice was soft, but the words hash: "Do you always pity yourself like this?"

"I wouldn't call it that," he mumbled, his blue eyes still deeply lost into brooding thoughts.

"No?" She raised an eyebrow. "Then tell me what's troubling you."

"I…" he began uncomfortably. "I was thinking about Rhode Valara. You know, the girl I wanted to take on as my padawan, but I…"

"… Didn't have the time." Sebastin finished for him. "Let me offer you a guess: You wonder if you have taken Kelan as you padawan because you felt guilty about Rhode leaving to fight with Revan."

"Something like that, yes," he confessed. A wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. He leaned back in his chair.

Sebastin neared him and sat down on his right armrest. Her deep, profound gaze bored itself into his eyes. "And is there any truth in this?"

He shook his head. "Of course not. I'm just brooding." He offered her a small smile.

Sebastin smiled back and took his hand in hers. "You love this boy, don't you?" she said.

Kavar nodded, stroking her fingers with a callused thumb. "Yes. Perhaps I am not the best choice as a Master right now, but I doubt anyone else feels the devotion I do. Did you know I was the one who found him on Kiffu? I was visiting the Watchman for that sector, and we made a detour to Kiffu, because she knew the Shyef's youngest son showed a remarkable telemetric talent, something that pointed at strong Force sensitivity."

Sebastin looked at him with newfound interest. "I've heard the Kiffar Clans are very close. They rarely settle outside their own system. It couldn't have been easy to convince his family."

"It wasn't easy at all." Kavar pressed his lips together in a thin line and shook his head. "I hadn't the possibility to take on a padawan then; the Council demanded too much of my time." He silenced for a moment. "But when Kelan's Master followed Revan to war, Kelan refused to follow." There was pride in Kavar's voice; not many padawans would have the strength of resolution to choose as Kelan had.

"Well, then." Sebastin said lightly. "Will you let him accompany me and Bastila? He would be a great asset."

"I know he would; I've met few Jedi with his talent for fencing," Kavar sighed. "There are, however, reasons why I don't want him further involved in this mess. I didn't want to discuss it in front of the Council, but I will tell you now. Kelan told me yesterday. He was… quite upset about what has happened."

"Kelan is familiar with the Sith you are hunting, Sebastin. Ooma once bore the name Thurnin Xunn. He is a Kiffar with a strong psychometric talent. At the beginning of his career as a Guardian, Thurnin was banished to Kiffex because he kept abusing his telemetric ability for his own profit, claiming it was his 'birthright' as a Force adept to use his ability in whatever way it profited him. When he got banished, he cast off his old name and took the name 'Ooma'."

"Sounds much like the Sith tradition," Sebastin remarked. "I wonder if the Krath Order was the only connection he had…"

Kavar continued, "Later, about four years ago, Ooma stood trial again, this time for the murder of several Guardians. He was very powerful even back then. Justice demanded that Ooma was executed, but Kelan protested, urging his father to heed the Jedi Code and – instead of death – imprison Ooma on Kiffex."

"And now," he concluded with another troubled sigh, "you probably understand why I cannot let Kelan have part in this."

"I do," Sebastin said severely. "One more thing though; you said Ooma's clan name was 'Xunn', is he a relative to Kelan?"

"His uncle," Kavar replied darkly. "But Kelan's family no longer regards Ooma as their blood relative."

"Oh dear," she breathed. "I had no idea."

Kavar shook his head. "Nor did I. I know that his Mother was strong in the Force, so this means Kelan has that heritage from both his parents."

"Where is he now?" Sebastin asked with sudden foreboding in her voice.

"Sparring. Do you feel something is wrong?"

"I've got a bad feeling, that's all," she said and rose abruptly.

Kavar still held her hand, preventing her from leaving. "Wait, Seb."

Sebastin started at the way he casually used her nickname. She looked away from him. "Kavar, this is behind us now," she said, sadness suddenly present in her demeanor. Kavar let go of her hand and Sebastin immediately took a few steps away from him, watching him warily.

"I know." He was relieved when he realized that he truly meant those words. "Let's go, shall we?"

She nodded in agreement, and Kavar felt that Sebastin had calmed down as well. Had she really been so nervous to meet him again? He knew she was hiding something from him; secrets had always been her specialty. Kavar cleared his mind from all the questions that surfaced. He needed to be focused, alert. _I have enough problems_.

* * *

Bastila stood in the opening towards a landing platform in the Jedi Order's hangar, waiting for Vrook to finish his conversation with two Jedi Knights. Bastila had bumped into Master Vash at tonight's sparring, and the Jedi Master informed her that Vrook was on his way to the hangar. 

She sauntered back and forth in the corridor. Vrook had seen her, of course, but whatever he was discussing with the two Jedi was important, it seemed. Bastila felt a little bit hurt that Vrook had not told her that he was leaving so soon. They hadn't met since the meeting in the Council chamber the day before, and she felt awkward whenever she looked at him. However, there was one question she needed answered. A question she had been too ashamed to ask in the Council's presence.

The sound of footsteps made her turn around. On the far end of the corridor behind her she spotted Kelan, who had just rounded a corner. He seemed to move with caution, and when he realized she had seen him, he looked quite like a thief caught in action.

"Hi, Bast!" he called, and she couldn't help noticing a slight uncertainty in his voice.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Kelan walked up to her. He surveyed the surroundings and his gaze stopped at Vrook and the two Jedi. "Is Master Vrook going somewhere?"

"Yes," she replied, moving her eyes to Vrook again. "To Dantooine."

The two Knights walked away, and Vrook approached Bastila. Her eyes automatically dropped to the floor. "Lonna said you were leaving."

"I must return to Dantooine," he said. Bastila nodded. "Goodbye, Bastila, and may the Force be with you," Vrook said, then began to walk towards the ship that stood ready for takeoff.

"Wait!" she called after him.

He stopped, but didn't turn around. "Did you want to ask something?"

She hesitated.

"Bastila?"

"Why did I pass?" she asked.

Vrook waited a moment before answering. "Life, as you will come to understand, is most of all a learning experience." He paused. "Remember your mistakes. Do not repeat them."

She watched as he walked away and entered the ship. He didn't turn to look at her, but there was no need. She had heard what she needed to hear.

Suddenly she realized Kelan had gone: She never saw him leaving.

After Vrook's ship had left the hangar, Bastila remained on the platform. The sunset was a particularly pretty one, with clouds colored pink and purple as the sky slowly changed from yellow and red to deep blue. By the time the first star showed itself, another ship, a small, one-man Jedi transport left the hangar, quickly ascending through the atmosphere until it disappeared in the horizon. Bastila didn't think of it much at the time. She had begun to feel a little bit cold, and decided that it was time to return to the Temple.


End file.

Star Wars, Adventure, Romance